Firewhiskey Lullaby
by with-a-flower-in-her-hair
Summary: INCOMPLETE AND ON PERMANENT HIATUS. Harry goes away to find the last of the Horcruxes, leaving a broken-hearted Draco behind. What happens when Harry finally makes it home, only to find that Draco hasn’t been quite as faithful as he promised?
1. Prologue

Firewhiskey Lullaby

Disclaimer: Apllies to all chapters; not mine, never will be

Rating: M

Genre: Angst/ Tragedy

Warnings: Alcohol, suicide, boy/boy relationship

Summary: 'I love you, Harry Potter. Come back to me, please.' Harry goes away to find the last of the Horcruxes, leaving a broken-hearted Draco behind. What happens when Harry finally makes it home, only to find that Draco hasn't been quite as faithful as he promised? Inspired by the song, '_Whiskey Lullaby_.'

A/N Before anyone reads, just thought I should say that yes, I know that Quidditch teams have separate changing rooms, but seeing as it's only mentioned in one line, let me off this time, k? :) Also, as the prologue, this is the shortest chapter, so please don't be put off by the lack of length!

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Prologue

Draco lay, watching Harry's chest slowly rise and fall with each breath he took. He studied his boyfriend, lain out on Draco's bed, hot and flushed, his lips reddened from Draco's kisses, his black hair mussed, spread out around his head on the white pillow. He reached out a hand, and softly trailed a finger down Harry's chest, tracing the line of each muscle as he reached his abdomen. Harry stirred, as Draco dipped a finger into his navel, before slowly travelling lower, stopping at waistband of his pants. He lay back down beside Harry, adjusting his position so that his head was on the same pillow as his boyfriend's. He nuzzled into Harry's neck, knowing that he was mixing their hair on the pillow as he did so. He loved the contrast they made together; tan and pale, black and blonde, the leader of the light; epitome of good and kindness, and the son a Death Eater. Draco had never dreamed that they would end up together. He hadn't even known Harry was gay, until he caught him blushing as Draco was changing one day after a Quidditch Match. Draco smirked as he remembered that particular day. He had never known Harry so shy, so tentative, and he had certainly enjoyed being the more domineering of the two. Not that much had happened; just a few bruising kisses and a very flushed Harry. Draco smiled, remembering how Harry looked just after he had been kissed. Not that he wasn't gorgeous all the time, Draco conceded, but at those moments, he really was something else.

As he looked down at his boyfriend now, he could hardly believe how far they had come over the past year. They had begun dating straight away, and, amazingly, had never looked back. A year later, they were stronger than ever, and had even managed to somewhat cool the hostility between their friends. Hermione and Pansy, in particular, had become close friends, and even Ron now admitted that Draco wasn't, 'all that bad.' Draco grimaced slightly at this thought. He would never like the red-head particularly, but he had to admit, he looked out for Harry, and for that, Draco was grateful. Draco snuggled further into his boyfriend, delighting as Harry's still sleepy hand came up and began running his fingers through Draco's white-blonde hair. Harry had always said he liked Draco's hair; something about it reminding him of moon-lit lilies. He reached up, entwining his hand with Harry's, wrapping his other arm around the smaller boy, holding him tight. Harry was now a regular visitor to the Slytherin Dungeons, but Draco never got used to the feeling of being able to lie next to Harry, just holding him. Draco's smirk reappeared, as he remembered the first time he had managed to convince Harry to stay the night down here. Harry had never been with anyone at all, and Draco had never been with anyone he cared enough about to particularly enjoy the experience. That night though, had been pure bliss. He lay there for a while, just breathing in that mixture of smells; fresh air, broomsticks, and some sweet scent Draco could never quite identify, that was just so _Harry_. He clung on tighter, still not quite believing that this would be the last night he would get to hold his boyfriend like this.

Harry was going away tomorrow, Merlin knew where. He had only told Draco that he needed to go; that the final fight against Voldemort couldn't take place unless he completed something first. Draco had asked Harry again and again what it was, had begged for Harry to tell him. He had repeated, over and over, that he wanted to help, but Harry refused every time. He had said, that Ron and Hermione going with him was bad enough. He refused to risk Draco too. Draco scowled softly, but found that he still couldn't retain any real feeling of anger towards Harry over what he was doing. He knew without a shadow of a doubt, that had the roles been reversed, he would have done everything and anything within his power to keep Harry's out of harm's way. He sat up slightly, and leaned back over the body of his sleeping boyfriend, whispering in Harry's ear.

'I love you, Harry Potter. Come back to me, please.'

He brought his finger back up to his own lips, and placed a chaste kiss upon it, before pressing his finger lightly to Harry's lips, and laying back down on the bed, tears filling his eyes. Harry hadn't even left yet, and already, Draco was longing for the day when all this was over, and he would finally have him back in his arms.

'I'll wait for you,' he promised, watching as Harry's eyes gently fluttered open, letting him know he was listening, 'For as long as it takes.'

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	2. Chapter 1

Chapter One

'_He put him out. Like the burning end of a midnight cigarette._

_He broke his heart...'_

Harry was elated; they had done it. Him, Ron, Hermione; they had finally destroyed the last of the Horcruxes. They had managed to track down and destroy Ravenclaw's Lost Diadem in a cave somewhere in the North of England, and were now heading back to London, their task finally complete. Harry was leading the way, on the latest broomstick he had purchased; his Firebolt had been burned to cinders by a dragon somewhere over in Whales, and was hardly able to keep himself from loop-the-looping the whole way back. He couldn't remember the last time he felt so light, so inexorably _happy. _He was going to see Draco again. He grinned, leaning flatter over his broom, speeding up just a little more, and heard Ron's laughter ring out through the night sky.

'Eager to get home, Harry?'

Harry turned and flashed a grin in his direction, 'Absolutely.'

They flew on for two more hours, images of Draco dominating Harry's thoughts the entire way. He hadn't seen Draco in over two years now, and owl post had become too risky for them to even chance communicating that way. Harry had tried, once, sneaking into an old house to firecall Draco, but had been forced to flee before he had even thrown the Floo Powder onto the fire. Death Eaters never were exactly compassionate, and Harry doubted very much that the group storming the house, would have let him off upon hearing that he was trying to contact his boyfriend. He had never tried again. He felt the constant ache in his heart increase, as he thought back to the after events of that particular night. Ron and Hermione it seemed, finally saw sense, and had rarely been apart since. It seemed that realising how close they came to losing each other, finally drove them to admit to one and other what Harry had know since their third year; that the two were crazy about each other. He had smiled, and congratulated them, and done all the other little things expected of a supportive best friend. And he meant it. He honestly, truly wanted them to be happy. But it almost killed him, watching them together, knowing that his love was so far away; completely unreachable. He had cried for days after, thinking of how close he had gotten to finally speaking to Draco, and of how far he still was from the other boy.

Harry felt the stirrings of butterflies begin in his stomach as his thoughts drifted, once again, to Draco, and marvelled at just how long it had been since he had felt anything like that. Finally,_ finally_, he was going back to Draco. Finally, he was going to see his boyfriend again. For the first time in over two years, Harry felt his heart skip a beat, and his grin widened, all thoughts of the longing he had felt while on their Horcrux hunt, eclipsed by the feelings now welling up in his chest. He blushed very slightly, remembering the last time he had been alone with Draco. He had been in the Slytherin's bed down in the dungeons, and they had lain there, for hours and hours, just drinking in each other's presence. Draco had told him he loved him, told him that he would wait for Harry, for as long as it took for him to come back. When morning came, Harry could hardly bear to tear himself away from his boyfriend. They had cried, both of them, and had clung to each other, until Harry had finally stepped away, knowing that if he didn't go then, he might never be able to.

Harry felt a strange, warped pain, shoot through his body, thinking back to the last memory he had of his boyfriend's face. Draco had stood, at the entrance to Hogwarts, watching as Harry, Ron and Hermione walked down towards the gates; walked away from him and into, what to Draco, was the complete unknown. Harry had looked back as he reached the gates, tears in his eyes, to see Draco still standing there, as if determined to spend every last second he could with Harry in his gaze. And when the three had disappeared, unknown to Harry, Draco had stood, for an hour afterwards, staring at the place where Harry had disappeared, silent tears sliding down his icy cheeks.

Jogged out of his memories by the sudden bright lights, Harry looked down to see the city of London spread out below them. He felt a jolt in his stomach as the butterflies intensified. Just a few moments more. They landed, and Harry leapt off of his broom, and set off running for a tall building, with a painted, wooden door, on the other side of the road. Ron and Hermione laughed happily at his antics, cheering and clapping him on. He reached the doorway, turned round, gave a short bow and a brief, nervous smile, and opened the door.

He stepped into the house and closed the door behind him, all of a sudden extremely nervous. He had never been here before. Draco had left Hogwarts since Harry had gone to find the Horcruxes, and had sent Harry the address of his new home, encrypted, along with a key only Harry could use, in case the letter was intercepted. It was one of the few letters Harry had received. As he walked slowly along the hall, Harry couldn't help but look around for signs of his boyfriend having inhabited the place. The walls, he noticed, were painted a dark green, with silver lamps positioned every few feet along the wall, and a large tapestry, made up mainly of green and silver hues, ran the length of the hall. Harry snorted; of course Draco would make sure _everything _was in Slytherin colours. Well, Harry grinned, he'd have to fix that. Happily envisioning the large pot of Gryffindor-red paint he would buy the next day, he continued on towards a steep staircase, leading up to the first floor of the house. He made his way up the stairs, anticipation growing with every step he took. Reaching the top, he looked around, spotting the one door with light shining out from underneath it. He made his way over, heart beating faster than it had done in years, and pulled open the door.

He froze, heart still hammering, as the sight inside the room met his eyes. Draco was lying on the bed, stretched out, completely naked. He looked gorgeous; silver-blonde hair shining in the moonlight seeping in through the window, lips parted, chest heaving. And on top of him, writhing and gasping, was Pansy Parkinson. Harry dropped the small bag he was carrying with a dull thud, and stood, motionless in the doorway.

Pansy turned as she heard the noise, and her mouth fell open. '_Harry_?'

Draco's eyes flew open, and he sat up, causing Pansy to topple off of the bed.

'Harry?' he gasped, joy and shame mingling on his elegant, flushed face.

Harry glared at him, his breathing quickly becoming erratic, wishing, with all his heart, that he had never returned.

Draco's face fell, as guilt seemed to overtake all and any other emotions, 'Harry, I am so sorry. I can explain, I...'

Harry held up a hand, motioning for Draco to be quiet. He was having trouble breathing. 'I don't want to know,' he whispered, capturing Draco with his pain-filled eyes. 'You said you'd wait for me, Draco,' he said, so softly that even he had trouble believing he had spoken, 'You promised you would.'

Draco's eyes filled with tears, as he scrambled off the bed towards Harry, completely ignoring the shamefaced Pansy. He reached out to the smaller boy, his eyes pleading.

'No,' Harry whispered, 'No, don't touch me.'

Draco stopped, less than a couple of metres away from Harry, eyeing the other boy. He had changed, a lot. His hair had now grown well past his chin, and looked somehow artfully messy, rather than the, 'used mop,' look he had sported before. His tanned skin was now darker, sprinkled with freckles, and where Harry had been well-built before, his muscles were now yet more defined, showing clearly through the ripped, white shirt he was wearing.

'Your shirt's ripped.'

'Wild hippogriff.'

Draco blanched, 'Are you hurt?'

'Not really,' Harry shrugged, 'Hermione's gotten really good at healing spells.' He gave a short, bitter laugh, 'She's had plenty of practice.'

Draco stared at him for a moment, desperate to know what on earth he had faced that had meant Hermione had become so proficient at healing spells. He was having trouble holding himself back from throwing his arms around the younger boy, and telling him that it was all over now, that it was all ok, but one look in Harry's eyes told him that wouldn't be a good idea. He cringed, as Harry's hurt eyes met his, pain the overriding, all consuming emotion within them. He dropped his gaze, scanning Harry's body for any obvious signs of damage. There was a large, white scar across his abdomen, which Draco knew had not been there before, and a row of what looked liked scars from deep scratches up his arms.

'What happened?' he asked, pointing at the marks.

Harry flushed, looking down at his feet. 'A Veela. She got angry when I wouldn't accept her advances.'

Draco gazed at him, wide-eyed. 'You refused the advances of a Veela?' he asked, breathlessly.

Harry's blush deepened; he had never felt more stupid in his life. 'Yes.' He glanced over at Pansy, his usually bright eyes now shining with tears, 'I waited for you.'

Draco opened his mouth to speak, shame filling his gaze.

'Don't,' Harry said, holding up a hand. He turned back to Draco, looking at him as though contemplating the saddest of mysteries. 'You know,' he said, eventually, desperately trying to control the waver in his voice, 'you were the only reason I came back. Ron and Hermione were all for going straight to the Order and letting them know that we'd finished; that the final battle could finally take place. But I wanted to come here. I told them that they could stay with the Order if they liked, but that I was coming back, to be with my boyfriend.' Harry laughed hysterically, tears filling his eyes. 'I should have listened to them, shouldn't I? There wasn't anything here worth coming back to.'

He looked at Draco once more, the contemplative look on his face making Draco feel as though Harry could see right into his heart. He made one, last move towards Harry, only to be stopped, when Harry looked up, capturing him with his piercing green eyes, now shimmering with the haze of tears he seemed desperate to hold back. Harry smiled a sad, little smile. 'I loved you, you know,' he said. With that, and with one, last look at Draco, he turned and made his way out of the bedroom, out of the house, and out of Draco's life for good.

As he finally made it out of the house, Harry felt the tears which had been threatening to escape, finally spill over. They tumbled down his cheeks, leaving salty trails where Draco kisses should have been. He didn't see Ron and Hermione running towards him. He didn't see Draco leaning out of the window, calling after him, crying out for him to come back. He didn't see the car forced to swerve to avoid hitting him, as he walked silently down the middle of the road. All he could see was Pansy and Draco. Together, entwined, as he and Draco had once been.

He reached the end of the road, and turned swiftly on his heel, apparating away into darkness. He didn't need to tell Ron and Hermione where he'd gone. There was only one place he could go. He appeared, seconds later, outside 12 Grimmauld Place, and waited. Moments later, there were two faint pops, and Ron and Hermione appeared beside him.

'Harry?' Hermione asked, tentatively, 'Harry what happened?'

'He didn't wait for me,' Harry replied, furiously blinking away tears.

'Oh, Harry.' Hermione threw her arms around him, standing on tiptoes to kiss him gently on the cheek, allowing him to bury his head in her neck.

Ron meanwhile, stood in silence, his face steadily growing redder and redder. Harry had been miserable without Draco, even Ron had been able to see that, and tonight, on their way back, had been the happiest either he or Hermione had seen their friend since they had left Hogwarts. He felt his fists clench, fighting to stop himself from apparating back to Draco's house there and then, and letting the other boy know _just _what he felt about him breaking his best friend's heart. How _dare _that scumbag cheat on Harry? Didn't he realise how special Harry was? He looked up to see that Harry had raised his head from Hermione's shoulder, and was now looking at straight at him, an almost pleading look in his eyes.

'Don't,' he said, knowing, instinctively, exactly what was going through Ron's mind.

Ron felt his jaw clench. 'But Harry, he...'

'Ron, please!' Harry said, tears tumbling once more from his brilliant, green eyes. 'Please.'

Ron sighed. He should have known Harry would throw a fit if he so much as tried to touch Draco. The fact that he'd just had his heart thoroughly stamped on by the git wouldn't make a blind bit of difference. 'I won't.'

'Promise?'

Ron paused. This was so wrong; Harry shouldn't be protecting Draco! One look into his friend's eyes though, and Ron gave in. He just couldn't bring himself to hurt Harry any more. 'I promise.'

Harry nodded. 'Thank you.'

Disentangling himself from Hermione's arms, Harry turned to face the entrance to Grimmauld Place. 'We've got news to give them,' he said, wiping away the last of the tears from his eyes, 'Come on.'

Each of his friends instinctively took one of his hands, and together, they walked up the stairs into the Headquarters of the Order of The Phoenix, away from the darkness they had been living in, and back into their lives as fighters for the Light.

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	3. Chapter 2

Chapter Two

'_He spent his whole life trying to forget...'_

Weeks had passed since Harry, Ron and Hermione had returned, and they stood now, at the entrance to Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, linked, as they had done that night, staring up at what was to become the fateful building in front of them. Today, today was the day of the Final Battle. Harry could feel it. He looked up at the building he had once loved, had once called his home, and could see nothing but bitter memories. He could see him and Draco talking and laughing, laying next to each other late into the night, sometimes discussing anything and everything they thought of, sometimes in complete silence, soft, gentle touches the only speech they needed. He gripped onto Hermione's arm tighter, and she looked up at him, a soft, sad smile on her face, telling him that she understood what he was thinking, telling him, that it would be ok. He gave her a small nod, turning back to face the castle. By the end of today, it would all be over. He wondered, briefly, whether he would live to see another morning, and was shocked, to discover that he couldn't find it in himself to care.

The trio walked, arm in arm, up through the doors of Hogwarts, and into the Entrance Hall, stopping when they saw the mass of people congregated there. The Order had gathered every witch and wizard they could to defend Hogwarts, and the noise of so many loud, confident voices, was making Harry nervous, visibly cringing away from the sound. Slowly slipping out of Ron and Hermione's arms, he pulled out his Invisibility Cloak, and threw it over himself, making sure to catch Ron's eyes before he did, so that his friends would know he was safe. The last thing he needed was people searching for him.

He turned, and began walking, just walking. Anything to get away from the hub of expectation filling the Entrance Hall. It was a few minutes before he realised where his feet had been taking him, and he froze, realising he was already half way to the Slytherin Dungeons. He paused, wondering whether he dared carry on with his path. He knew it was stupid, knew it would only bring back every painful memory he possessed, but he couldn't help himself. He wanted to prove, _needed _to prove, if only to himself, that it had all been real. He wanted to see, just one more time, the place where he and Draco had kissed, and made love, and clung to one and other the morning before he left, praying to every deity they knew, that they would be together again soon. He felt his feet move once more, carrying him down an all too familiar path, and with each step, he felt his breathing quicken, and his heart rate increase.

He reached the entrance to the Slytherin Common Room, and realised, as he did so, that he didn't know the password. He reached out, touching a hand to the painting, whispering to it in Parseltongue. The entrance opened, and Harry dropped his hand, walking through without so much as a, 'thank you,' to the snake in the painting. He made his way silently across the room, taking care to commit every step of the large space to memory. He wanted to remember it all, no matter how much it cost him. Finally, he reached the Boys' Dormitories. Pushing open the door of the first room, he slipped silently inside, closing the door behind him. He felt his breath hitch, as he stepped fully into the room, and took in the scene that was there to meet him. Here, so long ago, was where he had found love, truly, for the first time; where he had hugged, and caressed, and worshipped Draco, in a way Harry could not imagine doing with anyone else. And here, right now, was Draco's beautiful, broken form, lying on what had once been his bed, arms wrapped around his muscular body, crying softly into his old pillow. He looked up, as Harry slowly slid down the wall so that he was sat on the floor, unable to form even coherent thoughts.

'Hello?' Draco whispered, looking around the room.

Silence answered him.

Draco's face fell, as he realised no-one was there, that he was still completely, and absolutely alone. He had thought, for one, shining moment that he had heard someone come in; that it could be _him_. He shook himself slightly. Of course it wasn't. It never would be, not ever again. He had made sure of that. He had ruined everything. He turned his face back into his pillow, and wept, feeling as though his heart was breaking all over again, never knowing that Harry was sat, just feet away, staring at the one person he loved more than anyone else, knowing with absolute certainty, that his heart was now broken beyond repair.

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Hours later, Harry looked out over the battlefield, and heaved a heavy sigh. It was over, Voldemort was dead. He raised his wand, sending green sparks flying into the sky, and the crowds surrounding him erupted into applause. He looked around at all of them, their faces shining with gratitude, and approval, and felt nothing but pain. Slowly, he turned and walked away, ignoring the people calling after him, and the worried friends who were trying to reach him, just as he had done that night. Just as he had done, the night his delicate heart had first broken.

He returned, once more that evening, to Grimmauld Place to collect his things. After that night, few saw Harry Potter again, and those who did, spoke only of his distance, and of the dullness in his eyes. He retreated inside himself, further even than Ron or Hermione could reach, and spent his days alone, in the small apartment he had bought, sleeping, thinking, remembering.

For months, Harry existed on this diet of silence and solitude, as the few visitors he did have slowly dwindled. Ron tried visiting, time and time again, but the response was always the same; a blank, humourless stare, and despair beyond anything Ron had ever witnessed, or experienced. It was as though Harry didn't even recognise that he was there. In truth, Harry _was_ aware, on some level, that Ron and Hermione were worried about him, but it was a dim sort of awareness, one which was easily and constantly overshadowed, by the ever-present feeling of grief, weighing down heavily on his chest. He learned, slowly, simply to ignore the rest of the world, trapped as he was in his endless cycle of repeating memories, dulling emotions, increasing pain. It never occurred to him that company, was just what he needed. And it never entered his grief-clouded mind, the utter despair he was inducing in his friends.

He didn't see the worried expressions on hide friends' faces, or the whispered conversations they held back at Headquarters. He remained, completely unaware of the tears Hermione shed, and the way Ron's jaw now clenched every time his friend was mentioned. Everyone in the Order was becoming desperate, beginning to wonder if that spark which had made Harry so inexplicably _him_; the charm, the charisma, had been extinguished for good. And Harry knew none of this. Instead, he spent his days replaying broken memories, of lost friends, comrades. He found himself remembering all those who had died in the war, unable to forget a single fallen body. He blamed himself, though he never told a soul, and as he slowly sank further and further, he clung tighter and tighter to the memories. He thought endlessly of Draco, running over and over every moment they had spent together, reliving every smile, kiss, touch. Memories, the memories, were all that sustained him. He hated them, loathed them, _despised_ them, but still they were all that kept him alive. He wanted to forget. Lord knew, he wanted to forget, but he couldn't let himself. Because however much the war had affected him; however much guilt and grief he felt, however much Draco had hurt him; however much irrevocable pain his short life had brought, Harry couldn't let go. For one, simple fact remained.

He loved them.

He loved _him_.

And he had lost them, one by one.

The day finally came, some months after the Final Battle, where Harry woke one morning, and simply didn't move out of bed. He lay, staring up at the ceiling of his room, thinking of those days, now so long ago, when he had done just the same the same thing, but in a comfortable, Slytherin bed, with Draco at his side. He turned, instinctively reaching out an arm, only to find that there was no-one there but him. He curled in around himself, wrapping his arms around his shattered chest, and lay there, just lay there, until his tortured memories slipped silently into broken dreams. And all the while, he clung to the memories, wishing, with all his heart, that he could just let go.

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	4. Chapter 3

A/N Apologies for the short chapter, but I want the story to fit the lyrics, and this was all I felt needed to be said. I'll try and make the next chapter a more reasonable length!

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Chapter Three

'_We watched him drink his pain away, a little at a time,_

_But he never could get drunk enough, to get him of his mind...'_

Months passed, and Harry rarely moved from his bed. His constant diet of isolation had all but bed-ridden him, and his days soon consisted of nothing but silence. It rang out around him, speaking to him, taunting him, whispering things he knew he shouldn't be able to hear. And yet, it was comforting. He could no longer bear to be around people, and the few who tried to visit were quickly sent away. The silence, _the silence_, was all Harry had now for company, and, like the constant whirl of painful memories, he found himself clinging to it, no matter the price it cost him.

He had found one friend though, just one, and he clung to this friend tighter than he clung to anything else. This friend never questioned, never pried, and certainly never pitied. It never spoke, or laughed, or attempted to rouse Harry from his state. This friend simply offered comfort, drawing Harry into a dulled embrace, calling, beckoning, until Harry was so deeply involved that he could no longer see the price his new friend had cost him, could no longer see the damage it could cause, or how he now wanted it, craved it, _needed_it. He simply drank, night after night, embracing the comfort his new, liquid friend brought him, and the dulled sensations it brought with it. He never forgot, not once, but the alcohol numbed the pain, turning it from a sharp, brutal stab, to a constant, dull ache, and Harry welcomed the change, not once stopping to review his actions. He turned a blind eye to the shocked, scared looks on Ron or Hermione's face each time they managed to force their way into Harry's flat, and saw the piles of Firewhiskey bottles that now littered the floor. He ignored their pleas for him to stop, to think about what he was doing, to get help, just as he had ignored every kind word they had offered since the Final Battle. He knew, somewhere, that he felt guilty for what he was doing to them, for the heartache and worry he was bringing them, but the guilt was so suppressed, so hidden by months of pain, grief, and anguish, that he could barely recognise it for what it was.

Occasionally, as the daylight darkened into night, and the sounds of the outside world slowly died, Harry would rouse up the energy to get up out of his bed. He would pad across the room to a small chest of drawers, taking out a red photo album, a bottle of Firewhiskey never leaving his hands. He would open the photo album, flicking through the pages, marvelling at the happier times he had spent years ago. He would stop, always, on one picture, running his thumb over it in an almost reverent manner. It was a picture taken when he had been at Hogwarts, when he had had friends, and love, and laughter. Back when he had truly been alive. It was of Draco, hair shining in the soft sunlight, body wrapped protectively around Harry. In it, Harry peeked out over Draco's arm, grinning shyly at the camera. Every now and then, the Draco in the photo would lean down, and kiss Harry softly on the head. The photo Harry would blush, causing Draco to laugh, until Harry snuggled back into his embrace, resuming his shy, happy smile.

Harry would look at the photo for hours at a time, simply watching, remembering, and, just for a short time, the bottle in his hand would stay forgotten. He would put it away, only when the tears which always filled his eyes threatened to spill over, and his hand once again remembered the fickle friend they held. He would lift the bottle to his lips, before carefully replacing the picture. Then, and only then, once the album was closed, and safely back on its shelf, would he allow the silent tears to slip down his cheeks and past his chin, dripping down onto his lap. He didn't want to ruin the picture with his tears, and it never occurred to him to take the picture out of the album to hold it up. It belonged to a past he could never recapture, no matter how much he longed to, and the past, Harry had convinced himself, should be left where it was. Instead, he would sink back down onto the floor, lost in wistful memories. He would down the bottle in his hand, before reaching for another, hardly caring how much he had drunk that night. And all the while, the tiny shards of his fragmented heart ached, as he drank, and drank, desperately trying to rid himself of a pain he knew would never go away, continually reliving a past he could never regain, never recover from, and never,_ never_ forget.

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	5. not an update

A/N Firstly, I'm sorry for not ever leaving an author's note to say I was putting my stories of hiatus! I put one on my other chaptered story and completely forgot to do one for FireWhiskey Lullaby. This is really just a note to say that I am very sorry, but this story won't be finished.

Thank you you so much for alerting/reviewing - I'm really sorry for not replying to reviews since I stopped writing this but know they were very much appreciated!

-flower-


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